Coldest Winter
by JediMaster-Harry-Baggins
Summary: The body of a young witch has been found in a popular park in London, seemingly mauled by werewolves. Harry has just recently been made Deputy Head of the Auror's Office and both he and Ron struggle to balance work, their love lives and the nuances of parenthood all while searching for the serial killer hidden in their midst.
1. Chapter I: The New and Improved Ministry

Harry Potter fan fiction

The New and Improved Ministry of Magic

Chapter I

The Ministry of Magic- the heart of the British wizarding world. And very little of the building itself had changed over the centuries. Levels might have been added, the dungeons expanded, but the atrium stood much the same as it had on the day it was built.

 _Minus the fountain,_ Ron thought as he shuffled by, trying to avoid the thick din of witches and wizards crowding the Ministry's atrium. The fountain's last incarnation had depicted wizards standing upon the distorted bodies of various magical creatures. But shortly after the Ministry had been retaken and the Second Wizarding War had ended, it had been changed yet again and now illustrated the Battle of Hogwarts. Water spilled from the castle's high arched windows and splashed down behind pint-sized statues of witches and wizards, centaurs, goblins, and giants who had been placed in a defensive position in front of the school. Ron found that of all of the fountain's incarnations he liked this one the most. It was plain and elegant in white marble, which had a stark contrast with the rest of the Ministry lobby; the dark stone of the walls and the high ceilings were cloaked in shadow, giving the atrium a dark, almost oppressive feel. As Ron approached a line of wizards waiting for the next lift, he felt a hand clap his back.

"Mornin' mate," said a familiar voice behind him. Ron turned to find the wide grin of his best friend Harry.

"Good Morning," repeated Ron with a little less of his usual pep. Harry's grin faltered slightly.

"Merlin, you look terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Not a wink," answered Ron as he managed to return a sleepy grin. "Rose's been sick and she's been making sure the whole flat knows it. I'm just grateful for a break from all of the screaming, honestly."

"Ah, it'll be over soon, mate," consoled Harry, clapping Ron on the shoulder one last time. "I didn't get a good night's sleep for months after James was born."

Ron sighed. "I don't think I have _months_ left to give. I'm at my wits end! What's the secret?"

"Silencio," Answered Harry with a smirk. "Just long enough so I could get a quick nap in," He added hastily as Ron opened his mouth.

"That is-," whispered Ron, "Genius," he finished, with a strange glazed look in his eyes.

Harry laughed.

"Yeah, but don't tell Ginny. She's still upset about me letting James ride my broom."

"You don't have to worry about that mate. Hermione wont let me hear the end of that one either. 'Ronald Weasley!' whined Ron, in his best Hermione imitation, 'How on Earth did you think a baby on a broom was even remotely a good idea?!'"

"Victor Krum rode his first broom when he was even younger than James!" Retorted Harry.

"I know! Everyone knows that all the best start young," Ron agreed. "And besides, Quidditch is in his blood. You, your dad, Ginny… He's a natural."

The lift finally arrived and put a quick end to their conversation. Both Ron and Harry attempted to squeeze in, with Ron's toes just barely clearing the gate. He could feel the hot breath of the wizard behind him on his neck and an odd, musky smell that reminded him of one of his aunt's couches seemed to be coming from a tattered witch in a huge furry trench coat on his right.

The lift began to ascend slowly and after several very long and uncomfortable moments, the bell finally chimed to announce the lift's arrival to floor two: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry squeezed out to Ron's left and he followed close behind.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. He had never been claustrophobic, but being packed into that lift made him feel a little woozy.

They had entered into a large chamber packed with cubicles. Scores of workers could be heard clacking away at typewriters, with only the very tips of their heads visible above the cubicle walls. Ron and Harry walked together, down the wide aisles between cubicles to get to a door in the back corner of the room, whose placement seemed to be almost an afterthought. Few of the workers seemed to notice them. Harry crossed the last few steps to the door and turned the knob. The heavy oak door swung open to reveal a long hall, this one lined with offices. The offices closest to the door were the most handsome; these were the offices of the head and the deputy head of the Auror's Office.

Ron, however, occupied one of the much smaller and much less inviting offices near the end of the hall. His office was so small in fact, that Magical Maintenance had been unable to even fit a window.

Ron's desk was covered with clutter; paper work from cases weeks past (Hermione had always chastised him for his procrastination and he was beginning to think he understood why), and evidence boxes stacked three high lined the back corner. Empty picture frames were thrown haphazardly into a box on one of the two chairs in his office. Even though Ron had moved into the office 6 years ago, he had yet to install any pictures of his family. In fact, the only thing that adorned Ron's wall was a lonely poster of his favorite Quidditch team, Puddlemere United.

Harry, on the other hand, occupied the deputy Head's office, a bright and airy room, easily three times the size of Ron's. It had several windows, all magically fixed, and even featured several comfortable looking armchairs as well as a bookshelf behind the desk. It was a lot neater than Ron's. Harry's desk was clear, but had two bins, one for new paperwork and one for that he had already finished. Like Ron, harry had a little procrastination streak; his new paperwork pile was a lot smaller, though the bin itself was just as untidy as Ron's desk. Pictures of he and Ginny on their wedding day, James on his first birthday, and Harry, James and Ginny together lined his desk.

Despite this, Harry hadn't put much effort into decorating his office either. One day Ginny had visited him on his lunch break and took it upon herself to decorate for him. Ron and their fellow aurors had howled with laughter as he had tried unsuccessfully to remove the magically attached patterned wallpaper and lace curtains that Ginny had installed. However, harry had been content to let the photos keep their place.

Ron walked into his small, dim office and sat down, emitting a deep sigh. He was more tired than he could ever remember being and nothing put him to sleep faster than paperwork.

 _Come on, you've been putting this off for weeks,_ ron thought to himself. _Just this one file and then you can take a break._

He resolved himself to his task and pulled the first file on the top of the pile to him, while using his other forearm to clear an area to write. He opened it to the first page, picked up his quill, uncorked the ink and slowly dipped his quill.

On the date of _ the accused_ was apprehended at _ and charged with the crime of_.

Ugh, even the first sentence drawled.

 _Who would have thought being an auror involved so much paperwork?_

"Weasley!"

Ron jumped violently, his left arm sending the open inkpot flying onto the floor with a thud. A short wizard with greasy blonde hair and angry red acne on his cheeks poked his head in. Ron cursed.

"Dammit, Cooper!" Exclaimed Ron as he yanked his wand from his belt and scourgified the spilled ink from his desk.

"Captain wants to see every one in the detective hall," stated the wizard, his voice slightly subdued as he watched Ron clean the ink from his robes.

"What for?" Ron asked as he rose from behind his desk and removed the last of the ink.

"Who knows? All he said was he'd hex anyone who's late", he said as he rubbed a particularly dry patch of skin on his chin.

"That serious?" asked Ron thoughtfully.

"I guess so," answered the blonde wizard.

"Come on then," said Ron as he grabbed his cloak that was draped over a rickety chair in front of his desk. "Remember the last time when he hexed Crowley?"

When Ron entered the hall, he found it to be already full with the only seats being near the back of the chamber. The chamber itself was split with one half of the long tables on one side of the room and a large aisle separating them from another set of tables along the opposite wall. Ron darted quickly down the center aisle to the third row from the back with Cooper on his heels, and took two empty seats at the end. The hum of scores of conversations echoed within the high stone walls and the arched ceiling. Candles on the wooden tables flickered as the door at the back of the room opened and closed admitting the last of the latecomers. The chamber was very warm, even this far underground, but was also very dim. The only light came from the candles hovered 6 feet above the 20 wooden tables on each side of the room and one unusually bright candle at the very front. On the wall was a large blank sheet of parchment outlined in an ornate golden frame. Hundreds of years old, the Goblin wrought frame gleamed dangerously in the candlelight and depicted the first contact between the races and the signing of the Great Treaty, which put an end to the final Goblin Rebellion.

Mr. Cooke, the Head of the Auror's Office and a portly wizard with tufts of coarse white hair above his ears and none on the top of his head and an oddly curled mustache, walked to the center of the floor. He stroked his oddly curled white mustache and cleared his throat. Although the sound did not carry far, the silence that fell almost immediately was absolute.

"Welcome," he boomed as he looked around the room, his hands clapped around his ample belly. "It seems that I will not have to hex anyone today. Pity, as I had just found the perfect encore to my Caprifors hex." Several in the audience laughed and gazed in the direction of an uncomfortable looking wizard in the second row who seemed to shrink in his chair.

"But on to business," He cleared his throat. "Many of you may have heard already. The body of a young witch has been found in Hyde Park. Edwards-" he motioned to a skimpy looking wizard with round rimmed glasses hanging precariously at the tip of his nose. He rushed forward, almost tripping on the hem of his robes. Another round of snickers emerged from the gallery. Edwards flicked his wand at the large candle, seemingly deaf to the snickers, and a thin bronze sheet of metal coiled its way around, focusing the light onto the large piece of parchment, strategically placed on the front wall. Another flick of the wand and an image began to snake across the page. The snickers stopped immediately.

"Notice the abrasions on her throat indicate that she was strangled," stated Cooke, using a long wooden stick as a pointer.

"Strangled?" piped up a small voice in the rear. "Isn't this a case for the muggle police?"

Cooke turned in the direction of the outburst. The stare he gave the speaker was as cold as ice and he seemed to shrink even lower in his seat than his colleague. After a momentary silence, Cooke cleared his throat and continued.

"Next Image, Ed."

The scrawny wizard flicked his wand again. The lines and colors seemed to rearrange on the page.

"As you can see, there are several deep lacerations and bites all along her body. all of her internal organs are missing. Judging from the bite marks it looks like a textbook werewolf attack."

There was an open groan from the gallery.

"What you see here folks, is what happens when out of control werewolves roam the streets of London. The press is having a field day. The Minister has assigned this to us because he wants this taken care of quickly and efficiently. And you gentlemen-"

A small cough came from the right of the chamber.

"-and ladies," continued the old department head in an apologetic tone, "Will do everything in your power to find this mongrel before he strikes again. The last thing we need the whole community up in a panic."

"Potter- I'm putting you in charge of this case."

Harry accepted the responsibility with only a solemn nod but he suddenly became extremely aware of just how warm the chamber was.

"Pick your team and head out. The first wave is awaiting your arrival." He raised his voice and his attention back to the crowd. "Everyone else, Edwards will call your name for your new assignments."

It was an informal dismissal at best, and most took it as such. The sounds of the scrapes of wooden chairs echoed throughout the chamber as people stood and stretched their legs and conversations began buzzing again.

Harry was one of the first to stand.

"Ok so I'll take Baker, Harris, Clarke, Anderson, Weasley, and Crowley," harry yelled over the din that was growing louder and by the second.

"Baker! Harris! Weasley! Clarke! Anderson! Crowley! Up front please!"

Ron's ears perked up as he heard his name. He rose from he seat stretching his legs as he did so and began to walk up to the front of the chamber. The 5 others who's name had been called filed in in front of and behind him. When they had finally reached the front of the chamber, they formed a semicircle in front of Harry.

"Grab anything you need now. We're going to meet in the atrium in 20 minutes to go to the crime scene. Yes, everyone needs to go. No, Crowley we don't have time to stop for lunch. And everybody _be on time_ ," he said, placing emphasis on the last three words. "Dismissed." The others moved to gather their things from their offices, but before Harry could walk even 3 steps, Cooke appeared suddenly to his right.

"Potter, can I have a word?"

"Yes, sir," answered Harry as he allowed the Captain to show him to a slightly more quiet corner away from the others.

"Harry," said the Captain in a grave tone. "This case is very important."

Harry felt a knot growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"I wouldn't put this on you if I didn't think you were ready, he continued, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know this is a lot to ask with you only being deputy for such a short while. But I'm going to retire sooner rather than later, gods help me, and you'll need to be ready. I was with this department for 35 years before Kingsley got promoted to minister. I daresay I've earned a bit of a rest," he said with a chuckle. His brown eyes softened as he looked at Harry. "You're one of the better aurors I've worked with, Harry. You'll be a great Head of the department one day. But right now I need you to rise to today's challenge. I'm counting on you."

"This case will be by the book, sir. I promise, I wont let you down. Or Kingsley."

"I never doubted that, Harry."

And with that, Captain Cooke left Harry to organizing his task force. Harry looked up, and noticed Ron waiting for him by the first row of tables and walked over.

"What was that about?" asked Ron in a whisper.

"I'll tell you later," replied Harry. "Come on then. It'd look pretty bad if the deputy was late to his own briefing."

20 minutes later, Harry and Ron were standing in the atrium waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. Anderson, Baker, and Harris all arrived on time with minutes to spare. Anderson and Baker, two department veterans, had been friends since their days at Hogwarts, and were engaged in a passionate conversation with Harris about the Chudley Cannons' chances at the World Cup. Clarke appeared a few minutes later, her long brunette hair flowing behind her as she walked briskly over to their group.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized as she fixed her hair and adjusted her cloak. "I had some last minute paperwork."

"Last minute makeup check, you mean," Ron said quietly with a smirk. Clarke shot him one of her famous dirty looks and was opening her mouth to retort when Crowley finally straggled over to the group, 3 minutes late.

"I said _on time_ Crowley," sighed Harry. Crowley merely offered up an apologetic shrug.

"Ok now that were all here, before we head over I want to talk it over one more time and lay down a game plan."

Another 15 minutes later, the 6 of them emerged from the secret Ministry lift at the end of a dark, dank alley in downtown London. As he stepped outside, Ron felt the warmth of the lift leave him as the cold winter winds battered his face.

"Alright mates, remember," said Harry, addressing his colleagues one last time, "the alley next to the Muggle bookstore, across from the park. See you there." And with that, Harry Potter disapparated with a crack.

"Merlin, you'd think us slow the way he goes on," joked Crowley as he pulled his scarf up around his chin.

"Crowley, I'm sure you are a bit slow," said Anderson before disapparating after Harry.

Baker laughed.

"See you there, mate." And he disappeared as well.

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he felt the familiar tightening feeling in the pit of his stomach that always came when one apparated.


	2. Chapter II: The Dead of Winter

Sorry guys! I somehow accidentally uploaded my rough edit instead of the final copy. Here's the final edit. The story starts a little slow, but every good mystery needs a good foundation. Chapter 3 picks up the action and moves the story forward. It will be up 10/15/15. Enjoy the chapter!

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Harry Potter Fan Fiction

The Dead of Winter

Chapter II

Before he had even opened his eyes, Ron felt the freezing wind and snow battering his cheeks. The snowfall was light and wispy; most of it swirling around served only to make the air feel even colder. They had all appeared at once, in an alley about a block away from the park. Ron pulled his cloak a little tighter about him and the six of them strode forth from the alleyway and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The air was so thick with snow that Ron had to strain his eyes to see. Very few people were out and about despite it being the middle of the day, he observed, and the few who where walked hurriedly from building to building, spending no more time in the elements than necessary. Most importantly, no one spared a glance in their direction. Ron supposed he should be grateful. A group as large as theirs, dressed in all black Aurors robes, normally drew more than a few awkward looks. Even so, he found himself cursing the weather as he tried to adjust the scarf around his mouth and cover his red and burning chin and cheeks.

The walk was a brisk one, everyone being so cold that no one wanted to waste energy talking. Not that they could have heard one another with the wind howling so loudly in their ears. After what seemed to Ron like ages, the group reached the park's gates. They had scarcely past the entrance when he spotted a large blue tent in the middle of the park's snow capped landscape.

Harry was the first to reach the flaps of the tent, and when he pulled it back, a mountain of heat washed over them. The 6 of them stepped inside, brushing the quickly melting snowflakes from their hair and cloaks. The inside of the tent was abnormally warm; no one wore a cloak. Ron looked about the tent, and noticed immediately that as large as the tent looked on the outside, it appeared to be even larger on the inside. There were teams of people bustling around; wizards in green ministry robes collecting evidence, witches and wizards in blue law enforcement robes and the yellow robes of the ministry healers that dotted the blue-green created a vibrant sea of colors within the tent.

"Harry Potter."

A man in blue robes, perfectly matching his fellows, emerged from the crowd in front of them. Ron supposed it was why he hadn't taken note of him sooner. The man was obviously middle aged; His hair more salt than pepper, but his mustache was oddly finely trimmed and still a jet black. His shoulders looked large and muscular underneath his robes, however they seemed uncomfortably tight about the middle. The man's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead, and Harry once again became uncomfortably aware of his scar.

Harry held out his hand.

"and you are?"

"I'm Detective Anderson of Magical Law Enforcement," answered the officer, holding out a rough, aged hand and gave Harry's a quick shake.

"Hey, he's an Anderson too!" broke out Crowley. He squinted his eyes, pretending to give the officer a glance over. "I'd say you were related but I imagine our Anderson's relatives to be short and gumpy. Like him."

The detective looked at Crowley for a long moment and decided, it seemed, that he was not worth an answer.

"Harry Potter, Deputy Head of the Auror's Department. A…. Pleasure," replied Harry uncertainly. The expression the veteran officer wore was less than welcoming.

"I hear, you are to lead this investigation," he said instead to Harry. "Follow me. I'll give you the tour."

"What a dick," Crowley muttered under his breath to Ron as the detective turned away. Ron had to stifle a laugh. Luckily, Detective Anderson didn't hear that last remark and he continued to address Harry.

"This," Detective Anderson continued as he gestured to a tall wizard dressed in canary yellow ministry robes, "Is Healer Thompson." Healer Thompson was balding, with obvious 5 o'clock shadow; His bloodshot eyes told Ron that he had had probably been one of the first on the scene.

"Thompson, is the one who gave us our cause of death," said Detective Anderson.

"It's nice to meet you Deputy Head Potter," said Thompson with the slight bow.

"Nice to meet you as well," responded Harry with a nod. "What are your initial thoughts about the body?"

"The bruising around the victim's neck is a tell tale sign of strangulation. There are bites along her arms and a substantial amount of flesh is missing from her left leg. The bite patterns are consistent with those of a werewolf. However, I have noticed a lack of blood from the bites and tears to her leg. With such gruesome injuries there should be a lot more of it around. I'm suggesting that she was dead at least several hours before the werewolf tried to make a meal out of her."

"Thank you Thompson. I'll need the full report before you leave today, but afterwards you are dismissed," said Harry.

It had taken a while for him to adjust to his best friend being his boss, Ron reflected grudgingly. But over the course of the past year, Ron had seen Harry struggle under the weight of his new responsibilities, the late nights, time spent away from his family and most of all Ginny. But time and time again Ron had seen Harry rise to the occasion. To be frank, leadership suited Harry and he wore the mantle well.

"Thank you, Mister Potter, I have already completed it. I'll leave it on your desk." Thompson crossed the tent without another word, opened the flap and was out of sight.

"And over here all of the evidence is being documented and collected," continued Detective Anderson as he showed them to four very long tables against the far wall of the tent. The evidence collectors, all cloaked in emerald green robes, bustled about, carefully placing the items they found at the scene into clear bags, labeling them, and preparing them for transport back to the ministry.

"Do we have anything more concrete?" asked Harris. "Any physical evidence relating to our suspect?"

The look the detective gave Harris reminded Ron a lot of a look that one would give a child who had spoken out of turn. When he finally did answer it was directed at Harry.

"There's shoe prints around the body. Men's shoe. Size 8."

"Well that's good," said Harry. "Do we have a cast of that print?"

"No, but the first wave took plenty of pictures," answered the detective through gritted teeth. "Casts are old fashioned. Not many investigators do them anymore. Too much time spent waiting around for the plaster to harden."

"I'd like a cast made of it as well," commanded Harry. "this investigation needs to be thorough as possible."

The detective let out an audible humph, but did not argue the point.

"May I see a copy of the photos?"

Detective Anderson pushed the photos a little too roughly into Harry's hands. Harry did not flinch or give any sign that he had taken notice. He had grown used to this behavior. Many veterans on the force felt that Harry had been promoted too quickly. That he was simply a name or that he had not earned his place. He welcomed it. Harry could not deny that he and Ron had been accelerated through auror training. It was this that fueled his fire and pushed him ever further.

"Thanks detective, I think we can take it from here," said Harry a little absently as he continued to study the picture of the print. Detective Anderson took his dismissal gruffly and stomped off. As he walked away, Ron thought he heard him mutter something about "kids these days" and "proper respect".

"Something is not right about this case," Baker piped in as soon as the detective was out of earshot. Charles Baker was in his mid 30s, short with straggly sandy hair. He was a third generation auror. His father had served under both Jenkins and Bagnold and retired shortly before the second war. Charles was both ambitious and bright, but not quite as bright as he thought himself.

"He's right," agreed Ron. "Why would a werewolf strangle his victim first?"

"Maybe he thought she'd put up less of a fight if she was already dead?" offered Crowley. James Crowley on the other hand, had barely been in the department for 7 months. He had shoulder length black hair and a wide smile that was second only to Gilderoy Lockhart's. The lack of hair on his cheeks accentuated his youth. He was a little slower on the uptake and undisciplined. However, he had potential and room to grow. Ron and Harry liked having Crowley around. He was always good for a laugh.

"You're a moron. Werewolves enjoy the struggle with their victims. They prefer them alive," retorted Clarke.

"Amy, don't call Crowley a moron," chided Harry. "Come on mates, you heard the Captain. It's important that we get this right. Most investigations that go bad go wrong right here. I need everything, _everything_ to be by the book. Baker, Anderson- I need you to supervise evidence collection. Clarke and Harris, I want you to talk to the first wave. Find whoever found the body and interview them. And Crowley, I want you to check out the missing persons reports. See if you find someone with the description of our victim. Ron, you're with me."

As the others moved off to their tasks, Ron and Harry knelt and took one last look over the body.

"The victim's heart eaten out, along with the rest of her internal organs," muttered Harry as he leaned over the victim. "Bite marks along the hands and forearms, with all of the flesh eaten from her left leg. Still, no sign of a struggle."

"maybe it's just like that healer bloke said," supplied Ron. "She was brought here."

"it is definitely looking like it," agreed Harry.

"Did they say anything about a purse?" Ron asked after a moment.

"No," said Harry incredulously. "why?"

"Well don't you think one should have been here? Hermione never goes anywhere without her purse."

"And look at the foot steps all around her," added Ron pointing at the ground. "They're all perfect impressions."

"yeah, you're right," said Harry slowly. "If there was a struggle, it'd be pretty hard to hide the signs of it with all of this snow… So he killed her, kept her purse, and then brought her here, to a public park, to eat her? That makes no sense…"

Harry and Ron continued to investigate the scene around the body, but they couldn't find anything more than the first wave that came before them. By the time all of the evidence had been collected and properly labeled, the crime scene properly documented, and the body collected and moved to the morgue, it was well past 6 and had grown dark outside the tent without their noticing. As the last of the evidence boxes were being loaded up, Harry called the group together.

"Everything went smoothly, Baker?" asked Harry.

"Yes sir, everything is listed and accounted for and on it's way back to the Ministry as we speak," replied Baker.

"Crowley. Any missing persons matching our description?" Asked Harry as he turned to face the shorter man.

"There's about 11. Only 4 live within 50 miles."

"Make it 100 miles. And get me a copy of that list," commanded Harry. "Clarke. Any impressions from the first wave?"

"First Response found no witnesses, but they took down the contact information for the jogger that found the body. A John Thatcher. He was jogging with his dog when he found our victim at approximately 0800 hours," Clarke read from her note pad.

"Thank Merlin he wasn't a muggle. Otherwise we'd have to interview him tonight and wipe his memory," added Harris.

"It has been a long day," Harry agreed. "Well start fresh in the morning. Good work guys. Go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another long day."

"After the day I've had I need a drink," blurted Anderson, running a hand through his short black hair.

It was no secret that Anderson loved his fire whiskey. Neville had told Ron plenty of stories about him passing out drunk at the bar and Neville having to drag him upstairs into one of the rooms above the leaky cauldron.

"I'm definitely in," answered Baker. "You guys coming?"

"sure," answered Ron.

"I don't know…" hesitated Harry.

"come on, Harry," pressured Ron as he nudged him in his side. "You're always cooped up in that office. It wouldn't kill you to have a drink with your mates once in awhile."

Harry sighed.

"alright. But just one."

"What about you, Clarke? Harris?" Asked Baker.

"What about me?" chimed in Crowley.

"No rooks. Sorry," Anderson cut in coolly.

Ron gave Crowley an apologetic look. He had gone through the same phase when he first joined the department. It was something all the guys had experienced. Even Clarke. Although due to her beauty, it was a much milder version.

"I think I'm going to go home. I'm exhausted," answered Clarke through a yawn.

"Me too," said Harris. "I'll walk with you Amy. I'll see you guys in the morning."

"Geesh, when is Harris going to give it up?" blurted Anderson as soon as they had left the tent and disapparated. "I've been trying to nail Clarke since the day she joined the department. I'm telling you mate, there's an iron gate in between her legs. And if I couldn't get in, Harris for damn sure isn't."

"I don't know," responded baker with a smirk. "Girls like her always go for the tall, dark and handsome type." They turned and began to walk slowly towards the entrance of the tent.

"Yeah, well Harris is more skinny, pale and stupid than anything. I wonder what girls see in him?" he added as an after thought.

"Well, for starters he's not the short, whiny git you are," joked Baker as he walked out of the tent and disapparated with a loud crack.

"Hey! If he thinks I'm going to let him get away with that…" muttered Anderson as hurried out of the tent after Baker and disapparated on the same spot.

"Do they ever give it a rest?" asked Harry.

"Nope," laughed Ron. And together they set out after their partners and apparated.


	3. Chapter III: Fair Weather Friends

Thanks everyone for the positive feedback! Chapter 3 as promised. Originally, chapters 2 and 3 were meant to be one chapter but it ran a little long so I chopped it up. Chapter 4 will be uploaded on 10/29/15. Enjoy!

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Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Fair Weather Friends

Chapter II.V

When Ron opened his eyes again, he was in front of the Leaky Cauldron. He expelled a cloud of vapor with a shiver. It had gotten even colder after the sun had gone down. He watched a cloud of his warm breath float up and away. Ron could barely contain himself with thoughts of warm fire whisky flowing down his throat dancing across his mind.

He and Harry hopped up the stairs and through the front doors.

A huge wave of heat poured over Ron as he peered around the bar. His eyes squinted as they adjusted to the brightness inside and Ron peered around for their colleagues. The large rectangular bar in the center of the room . A roaring fire was going in the hearth against the far wall. It was Happy hour and even on a Tuesday, the Leaky Cauldron was poppin. Hannah Longbottom, nee Abbott, had acquired the venue a year or so prior and had transformed it's old, dark features into something of a hot spot for young working class wizards in downtown London.

As Ron weaved his way through the tables to the bar, he spotted Baker and Anderson.

"What took you, mates?" asked Anderson as he lifted his glass and drained it.

"How many have you had?" asked Harry, eyeing his the empty glasses resting on the bar.

"Just three."

"Already?!" Exclaimed Ron.

"Got right to it. Ordered two right when we sat down," chuckled Baker. "Charlie doesn't believe in warm ups. Or chasers for that matter."

"This here is number 3," said Charlie as he lifted his glass and drained it. He slammed it on the bar with a belch. "You two should catch up."

He leaned over the bar and waved at a tall dark haired man behind it. "Oy! Bartender! Four more over here!" yelled Charlie. The bartender looked up for the glass he was pouring, annoyance etched on his face. But when he saw Harry and Ron, he broke into a wide smile. He hurriedly filled the patron's glass, wiped his hands on a white apron tied around his middle and walked over to them.

"Hi, Harry! Ron!"

"Neville!" Ron exclaimed.

"How you been, mate?" asked harry. "business looks great."

"Thanks. It's all Hannah really. She's just thrown herself into it. If it wasn't for her I don't know how we would have turned this place around. **2** sickleTuesdays was her idea."

"Yeah well it definitely worked out, didn't it? Just look! I never saw this many people in here when Old Tom still ran the place."

"Yeah… It was always so dark and gloomy before.

"Yeeeaaahhhh… I knew something was different," said Ron thoughtfully. He peered around the bar, his eyes glittering as if he were truly seeing it for the first time.

"Merlin mate. You sure do move slow," interrupted Charlie. "Can we get those drinks sometime today?"

Just as Neville opened his mouth to inform him where exactly he would shove those drinks, Hannah appeared from behind and wrapped her arms around his middle.

"Honey, play nice," said Hannah as she kissed Neville on his left cheek; both promptly turned red. She stepped out from behind her husband. "Harry, Ron, its so good to see you."

"Nice to see you too again, Hannah," offered Harry.

"One over here bartender!" A man yelled from the other end of the bar.

Neville moved as if to answer the man's request but Hannah touched him lightly on the arm.

"I'll take care of it. Catch up with Harry and Ron," said Hannah.

"hey!" interrupted Charlie. "I'm A paying customer too!"

"Sorry," Harry apologized to Hannah. "He gets a little high strung when he drinks."

"Its perfectly fine, Harry," answered Hannah her voice suddenly flat. "And what can I get for you sir?"

"Finally some service!" shouted Charlie. "Four fire whiskeys. Make mine a double."

Hannah left to go serve the other patron and get their drinks. When she came back, her normal cheery manner had returned; although she did slide Charlie his glass rather gruffly and some of its contents spilled down the side.

"So, Ron, tell us about the baby! I'm sorry Neville and I haven't made it over to see her yet. As you can see," she gestured, "we've had our hands pretty full."

"Oh! Um well," Ron hesitated. "she poops and cries a lot. And then sometimes she cries and then poops. If that's what you mean," said Ron as he took another sip. "Never know what you're going to get with that one."

Harry tried to stifle a laugh too late and sent burning fire whiskey up his nose.

"Um," said Hannah, clearly trying very hard to keep the conversation alive. "so how's Hermione? Managing a newborn must be pretty hectic I imagine?"

She's… good," answered Ron.

"Good? That's all you have to say? I'd think a husband and new father would have a lot more to say than 'They're good'.

"Merlin, lady, a man sitting at a bar does not want to think about his wife and screaming baby at home," Anderson butted in. "Leave the man in peace."

She shot him a dirty look, but she didn't continue the conversation with Ron. After Hannah was out of earshot, Anderson leaned over and clapped Ron on the shoulder.

"You're welcome, mate. Anything I can do for a friend," said Anderson. Ron snorted in his glass as Neville smiled nervously over a glass he was cleaning a little too zealously.

"Harry, look over there. Is that that bloke Stan Shunpike?" asked Ron suddenly. "remember when he used to fawn all over you? "'Arry Potter? 'e tol' me 'is name was Neville!" Ron exclaimed in a horrible attempt to impersonate Stan's accent. Another giggling fit passed over him and he spilled a little of his whiskey onto his robes.

Neville on the other hand, did not share his sense of humor.

"He hasn't been right since they let him out of Azkaban. I heard the dementors really did a number on him," said Neville in a low whisper.

"Not to mention being Imperioused for a year. No wonder the bloke's off his rocker," added Harry. He spoke without thinking and felt a small pang of guilt as he watched Neville's brow furrow slightly.

"I though he went back to being a conductor on the Knight Bus?" asked Ron after he had finally gotten a hold of himself.

"He did," answered Neville, seemingly grateful for the change of subject. "He and Ernie stop in from time to time in between trips."

"Yeah, yeah. Well don't make any eye contact. The last thing I need is for him to see me," said Harry as he slouched a little lower in his seat.

Neville and Ron laughed.

They continued to talk and reminisce over their boyhood years at Hogwarts. Where had the time gone? Before Harry had become the chosen one, before Neville had cut the head from the snake, and before Ron had discovered something within himself he never knew he had. And before Ron knew it, time had passed them by and it was already nearing 1 o'clock.

"Well I should get going," said Harry as he stood up suddenly. "I have some paper work I have to check out at the office."

"You barely touched your Drink mate!" said Baker pointing at Harry's half empty glass on the bar.

"I really need to go. Sorry. Here's 2 sickles for my part," answered Harry as he counted out the coins in his pocket.

"Yeah, watch out guys. Deputy Potter's on the case," snidely said Anderson. "You going to catch this one single handedly too?"

"how about you get off your ass and do some work for once, you lazy drunk! Sitting here complaining day after day. It's a wonder why I keep letting you come back," retorted Neville.

"Don't mind him. He's still a little ticked about that Prophet article," apologized Baker.

"It's because I'm your best paying customer," answered Anderson. He lifted the glass and let the ice clink against its side. "And I say it's time for another."

"No, you're cut off," answered Neville stubbornly.

"What? Cut off?"

"Well I think I should be going too," said Ron. He drained the contents of his glass and set it down with a loud thunk. "I'll walk with you Harry. Good night, Neville. I'll tell Hermione you said hello."

"Night Neville." Said Harry.

And together they left the bar and the impending argument between Neville and Anderson behind them and stepped back out into the freezing cold.

"I'll see you tomorrow at work, mate?"

"Sure. 'Night Ron," answered Harry.

"'Night Harry," Ron replied.

Ron saw Harry apparate a split second before he did.

He arrived directly on top of the front steps. Ron silently patted himself on the back for his impeccable aim, even after four shots of fire whiskey. He pulled his wand and tapped the doorknob sharply.

"Ronald Weasley flat 409" The door swung open and he hurried inside. The door slammed shut behind him. Ron rubbed his hands together attempting to get them used to the heat.

 _Ugh, damn stairs_ , Ron thought as he put his foot on the first step.

He began his ascent slowly, his legs felt like lead. Up and up he went until he finally reached the fourth floor. He pulled out his wand and this time, Ron was sure to tap lightly on the doorknob.

 _Don't want to wake, Hermione,_ Ron thought. He could only imagine the kind of things she would have to say.

Ron closed the door lightly behind him and let out a sigh of relief. The apartment was dark and quiet. He kicked off his shoes as quietly as he could, walked down the hall and entered the living room. He slide off his cloak, folded it haphazardly and threw it on top of an armchair in the corner. As Ron turned to leave the living room, he stubbed his toe against the leg of couch.

"Shit!"

Ron shouted before he could stop himself. He froze and waited in silence, heart beating in his ears, listening for any sign of movement in the next room. Luckily, it seemed, Hermione hadn't hear him. He let out a sigh of relief and crept back out of the living room and down the hall.

 _CREAK!_

The old wood floors sounded loudly. Ron stopped again and listened as hard as he could, heart in his throat.

Still quiet.

When he got to the end he noticed a small flickering light coming from a room down the hall on his left. Rose's room, Ron thought as he crept down the hall and peeked his head in.

And there was Hermione, wide-awake, sitting in a rocking chair by the window with Rose sleeping soundly at her breast.

"You promised you'd come home on time tonight, Ronald," said Hermione in a deadly whisper.

Ron winced. He had forgotten all about that, what with all of today's excitement. Ron silently prepared himself; nothing good ever came after Hermione called him "Ronald".

"Yeah we had a tough case. I did the best I could, honey," answered Ron, in what he hoped was a soothing tone. He walked over and kissed her and then Rose lightly on the forehead.

"Then why did your hand on your mother's clock say that you left work 3 hours ago?"

Ron's stomach did a back flip. He panicked and threw caution to the wind.

"Listen Hermione," Ron started hurriedly. "I just wanted to blow off some steam with my mates for a little while. It was a hard day. They found this body in the park-"

"Ron! I needed you to be home to watch Rose so that I could get to the grocery store and a bath and maybe, just maybe, have a few moments to myself." As she spoke, Hermione's voice became louder and more shrill. "And after spending all day with a sick and screaming baby, I find that you went out to have drinks with your mates? You're such a selfish arse Ronald Weasley!"

Rose awoke suddenly and began to cry. The vehement expression Hermione wore moments earlier softened as she looked lovingly down at her babe.

"Shhhhhhhh," she cooed. In a whisper she continued to Ron. "I'll need you home by 6 tomorrow so that I can pick up a few things from the market before dinner."

"I'll try and manage it," choked Ron, almost at an utter loss for words.

"You need to do be more dependable, Ron. Sometimes I feel like I'm raising her alone."

All he could manage was a nod.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh as she gazed down at Rose, and began to slowly caress the soft red fuzz atop her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do about you…"

But whether she was still talking to him, or to Rose, Ron was unsure.

 **Fair Weather Friends**

12


	4. Chapter IV: The First Frost

Hey guys! Sorry about the long hiatus. With my final semester in college and all, I've been a little busy. However, I want to thank all of you that have taken the time to read and especially to those of you who have favorited and subscribed to my story. The feedback has been amazing. We'll be back on schedule soon enough!

* * *

Harry Potter Fan Fiction

The First Frost

Chapter III

Hermione awoke to the sound of Rose shrieking in the other room. The paper-thin walls of her and Ron's modest flat in London did little to dull the sound. Early morning sunlight glittering off of the thin layer of ice on the window hurt her eyes. She shut them tight.

"Ron," she moaned sleepily. "Ron, it's your turn."

When she received no reply, she rolled over impatiently and found the covers on the other side of the bed thrown back in a tangle.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and squinted at the clock.

7:08. Hermione sighed. Ron must have left for work 10 minutes ago. He didn't even say he was leaving.

Hermione felt a fresh wave of irritation wash over her as she rose from the bed and slipped her feet into her favorite pair of soft purple slippers. She grabbed her robe, draped on a chair in the corner of the cramped room and threw it around her. Hermione walked down the narrow hall stiffly, Rose's shrieks growing louder with each step.

Hermione picked Rose up from her crib.

"Shhhh, shhhh, its alright", Hermione cooed as she cradled Rose gently in her arms. She crossed to room to a wooden rocking chair next to the window, sat down and began to rock Rose slowly as she slid the shoulder of her robe down and offered her breast to the crying babe. Rose took it and began suckling eagerly. Quiet fell immediately. Hermione cringed as Rose bit down particularly hard. She had read all of the books she could get her hands on about pregnancy, breastfeeding and babies - even the Muggle ones. The books had however, downplayed how painful it was.

She sat there for a moment cradling Rose in awe, not for the first time. She had never truly imagined her life as a mother. She had imagined her O.W.L.s, her N.E.W.T.s, her career in non-human rights... But never had she imagined the moment she would hold her first child in her arms. It was an awesome feeling. She looked down at Rose, snuggled tightly to her chest.

 _She looks a lot more like Ron, though,_ Hermione reflected as she tenderly ran her fingers through rose's curly red hair.

 _Ron… That inconsiderate, self-absorbed git,_ Hermione thought venomously.

"Hermione!" A voice called from the other room. She jumped out of her reverie with a start.

"Hermione!"

"Ginny?" Hermione called uncertainly. She adjusted her nightgown and stood up. She walked across Rose's bedroom to the door and peered both ways down the hall.

Heeerrmiiiioooneeeeeeee!" Ginny's voice called. Hermione followed the voice down the hall, past the small dinky kitchen, and into the cramped living room that also served as Rose's play room.

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. She rushed over to the small fireplace on the far side of the room that barely seemed to belong in such a small space at all. Ginny's head sat in the fireplace, engulfed in green flames.

"took you long enough," she replied cooly. "Listen, you and Rose should come over for breakfast. My treat."

"Ginny it sounds nice, really, but I-", Hermione started.

"Hermione, come on. It's just breakfast. And at least if you come over here you wont have to clean up afterwards.

"But, I always end up cleaning up when I come over for breakfast."

"Well…. Only if you wanna," answered Ginny with a grin. "Come on Hermione, I promise. Nothing too strenuous and nothing that would require you to be out in the sunlight."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ginny, I really appreciate what you're trying to do for me, I really do. But I just-"

"Just what? You've already eaten? Too tired? Oh come OFF it Hermione! You haven't left the house in over a week! As your best friend it is my job to make you. Now you can come over here or I can come over there."

Hermione sighed.

"Fine. Give me hour," she said finally.

Ginny broke out into a wide grin.

"See? You'll be glad to be out of that flat, I promise. See you in an hour."

And with that Ginny's head disappeared from the fireplace and the weird green flames along with her. Hermione sat there for a moment with a puzzled grin on her face. Would Ginny really pack up James and come all the way over here? Hermione supposed she would.

 _Ahh, well at least I won't have to do any of the dishes,_ She thought as she stood up from the couch and went off to find something to wear.

About an hour later, Hermione stood bundled in her long winter cloak and Rose safely bundled within her carrier hanging awkwardly at her side. Hermione hefted Rose's oversized diaper bag onto her left shoulder and set out through her doorway. After a quick flick of her wand, she heard the audible click of the lock. She turned left and walked down the hall and began walking down the narrow stairs of the historic building. She began her descent down 5 flights of stairs slowly, struggling under the weight of the heavy bags. Not for the first time Hermione found herself regretting leasing this flat. It was affordable, especially for small young families looking to live Downtown. And it was located near one of the best schools, nice well kempt parks, and near enough to Ron's work. But the apartment itself was small and cramped. Two bedrooms and one bathroom, a small kitchen and living room and a dinky "family room", if you could call it that, was hardly enough space for Ron and Hermione, let alone a baby.

 _And these stairs,_ Hermione thought through gritted teeth. Just another thing on an ever-mounting list of things she hated.

When she did finally reach the bottom, Hermione had to set Rose's carriage down to rest her arm and catch her breath. After a quick respite, Hermione buttoned up her coat, picked up Rose and walked across dimly lit hall, with cold, stone walls towards the front entrance. She stepped outside and immediately felt the cold bite of winter as the wind began battering her cheeks. She gripped Rose's carriage firmly in her hand and apparated with a loud crack.

In the blink of her eye, the howling in her ears stopped. But when she opened them again the howling had grown louder than ever.

Hermione stood in an alleyway, less than a block from number 12 Grimmauld Place. After making sure that Rose's carriage was still completely covered, Hermione set off at a brisk place down the newly shoveled sidewalk. As she got closer she saw number twelve jump into place between numbers eleven and thirteen. She pushed the doorbell, still half expecting to hear the loud racket that used to come with it. But the bell just chimed a pleasant tune, and moments later Ginny was opening the door.

"Hello, Hermione," said Ginny with a smile. "I knew you would make the smart choice."

Hermione stepped over the doorway and embraced her friend.

"Yes, well it's not like you gave me much choice," answered Hermione. She uncovered Rose's carriage and began taking off their cloaks. "It sure is quiet. Where's James?"

"He's upstairs playing," answered Ginny as she helped Hermione take off her coat. She leaned down to Rose's carriage.

"Hi sweetie, I see you're wide awake this morning!" She tapped Rose lightly on the tip of her nose.

After Hermione had taken off all of her outerwear, Ginny took them and laid them neatly across a chair in the first floor's sitting room.

"I've already started," she continued. She led the way from the sitting room into the kitchen. A huge fire going in the hearth licked the bottom of a bronze teakettle. Hermione decided that she very much wanted some tea. She needed to knock the winter chill from her bones. She sat Roses carriage down on the kitchen table and rolled up her sleeves. Slices of tomatoes, eggs, and fried bread were already on the table. Ginny hadn't lied, she was indeed almost finished. With not much left, Hermione sat down and began to help herself. Ginny removed the last of the sausages from the pan and sat it on the table.

"Ill be right back, I've got to get James," said Ginny as she whisked from the room.

Hermione took a bite of fried bread and savored it. What little cooking proficiency she had, had been hard earned. She had spent hours reading cook books, studying recipes and had burned her meals more times than Ron would admit. She admired Ginny's natural skill in the kitchen. Spending her early years being forcefully recruited and a few times threatened into kitchen duty under the wing of Ms. Weasley had paid off. Ginny had grown in to an effortless cook who's skill was second only to her mother's.

When Ginny returned she placed two-year-old James in his high chair next to her seat. She picked up Rose's carriage from the table and sat it onto the floor next to Hermione's feet, before finally sitting down to enjoy their breakfast.

"You should bring Rose around more, Hermione," said Ginny suddenly. "I think it'd be good for her and James to get to know each other better." She cut a small slice of tomato on her plate and attempted to feed it to James. He took it, chewed twice, and promptly spit it out.

Hermione sighed. She had known that this was coming. Rose was born only 8 months ago and, Ms. Weasley had been barraging her with tips, correcting her grip, the water temperature of Rose's bottles, and it seemed anything she could think of. At first, Hermione was grateful for her help; she found that no book on parenting and no amount of study, had truly prepared her for being a mother. But as she grew more comfortable and got to know Rose, she found Mrs. Weasley's constant barrage of tips became less welcome. Before, Hermione was able to grit her teeth and smile and thank Mrs. Weasley for her help, but after a couple of months of enduring never ending criticism, Hermione decided she couldn't take it anymore. She had told Mrs. Weasley off.

 _Well… not exactly,_ Hermione thought.

She had been Burping Rose after her lunch when Mrs. Weasley had commented loudly that she might do better to wait before burping Rose. It was the last straw. Hermione responded before she could stop herself.

"I think you'd do better to be quiet, thanks," she responded coolly. "I'd like to get Rose down for a nap."

She gaped at Hermione, mouth open. However she promptly composed herself, and Mrs. Weasley refused to speak to Hermione the rest of the night. Actually, Hermione reflected, they hadn't spoken directly since.

"Listen Ginny, I know your mum put you up to this. She doesn't have to worry so much…." started Hermione.

"Mum, didn't put me up to this. I'm pregnant. Harry and I are going to be having another baby. I just thought it would be great for the kids to spend more time together, that's all."

Hermione blushed. She had not however, been expecting that.

"OH… errr…. Congratulations, Ginny. That's Amazing," Hermione sputtered. "Does Harry know?"

Ginny sighed.

"Not yet. He's been so busy with the Ministry and they just put him and Ron on that huge case. I don't want to distract him."

"So what about your mum? Does she know yet?"

"Merlin, Hermione! If I tell her I might as well shout it from the rooftops!" Ginny chuckled. "Mum's no good with stuff like this. Plus she's already worried enough. She spends so much time staring at that clock that even she's noticed that Harry doesn't come home much anymore."

"Really? Where does he go?"

Hermione waited, but Ginny didn't answer.

"Ginny, Harry's not the type who would be unfaithful to his wife-"

"I know that!" Ginny snapped.

Hermione blushed.

"His clock hand is practically stuck on work! He comes home, showers and then he's off again. Sometimes he even sleeps at the Ministry."

Ginny took a breath. Guilt crept over her with one look at Hermione's beet red face.

"I'm sorry Hermione. I'm just… frustrated. I know how important Harry's job is. I get it. But James needs him here," said Ginny as she placed a hand over her growing belly. "I need him here."

"And that's perfectly understandable," said Hermione blustered.

They ate in silence for a moment, neither of them quite sure of what to say. It was Hermione who finally broke the silence.

"Ron came home late again last night," she said quietly.

"Again?" answered Ginny.

"Yeah, did your mum say anything about Ron's clock hand?"

"No…" Ginny's eyebrows furrowed as she chewed her last piece of tomato. "But he hasn't been at the Ministry with Harry."

"Oh," said Hermione. She played with the crumbs on her plate.

"Ron, wouldn't step out on your either, Hermione," said Ginny reassuringly.

"I know," Hermione acknowledged. "But if he's not with Harry, where is he?"

 **The First Frost**

12


	5. Chapter V: A Trail Gone Cold

Harry Potter Fan Fiction

A Trail Gone Cold

Chapter V

"Hurry up mate, her parents are here already," said Ron impatiently. He lifted his mug to his lips and slowly and sipped his steaming coffee.

"Hold on, I just have couple more letters to send," responded Harry, without even bothering to look up. He signed his name at the bottom of the second letter with a flourish, and placed it inside an envelope.

"Come here you," said Harry to a small tawny owl resting on the corner of his desk.

Unlike Ron, the owl had been content patiently nibbling at the owl treats that Harry kept in a bowl on the corner his desk. At Harry's command, the owl hopped over to him and extended his leg. Harry attached the letter and the owl took off without another look back. He pulled another piece of parchment towards him, and began scrawling another letter; this time to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"The owl about that shoe print came in this morning," said Harry conversationally. "Apparently Baker's hunch was right. They belong to a size 8 pair of Alfonzo Perez loafers. Expensive, hand made. Very few people can even afford them."

"Excellent. Now if we can just raid every closet in London we'll find the killer," answered Ron sarcastically.

Harry attached the last letter to the leg of the remaining owl.

"Not every closet, Ron", corrected Harry. "Just an high end one."

The tawny owl took off before Harry had even pulled his hands away. He pushed back and the heavy armchair scraped loudly even against carpet.

"Alright then. Let's go see the…. Tourney's is it?"

"Yeah, they're in interview four," answered Ron as he stood up, downed the last dregs of his coffee and pushed in his chair.

They left Harry's office and together began to walk to interview room four.

Interview 4 was located not on the second floor with the rest of the department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was located in the basement, just one floor above the dungeons. Harry and Ron had to descend on the lift and once they had gotten below the atrium, the air was noticeably colder.

"Ooh," Ron shivered as he wrapped his arms around himself. "I knew I should have brought my cloak."

The elevator chimed at their stop.

" _Basement level three: Interview and interrogation."_

"Alright mate, this is us," said Harry as they stepped out of the lift.

They walked down a long and dim stone corridor, with only the glow of the torches on the walls for light. At the end, the corridor branched off into two even longer halls. A faded bronze plaque on the wall read:

Interview Rooms 1-15 Interview Rooms 16-35

They took the hall to the left and no more than two doors down did they find themselves outside of interview room four.

"Mr. and Mrs. Tourney?" asked Harry as he entered the room.

Mr. Tourney stood to greet them and held out his hand. "Hello My name is Harry Potter and I'm deputy Head of the Auror's Office," said Harry as he offered his hand in return. "And this is my colleague and partner Ronald Weasley."

Harry shook Mr. Tourney's Hand first and then Mrs. Tourney's. "we're going to be taking the lead on your daughter's case. I'm sorry that we had to meet under such dire circumstance."

"SSs-she was sss-so beautiful," sobbed Mrs. Tourney as she buried he head in her hands.

"The officer said you found her in Hyde Park?" asked Mr. Tourney. His voice strained. His cold, blue eyes bore into Harry's. They seemed determined not see his wife seated next to him, her body wracked with sobs.

It was Ron's turn to speak.

"yes. Mr. Tourney, do you have any idea where your daughter might have been going?"

"She called us. Said she took her last exam and she was catching a train home that night," answered Mr. Tourney, raising his voice slightly over his wife's continued sobs.

"I told her it was tttt-too dangerous for her to be out walking alone at night like that. Bbb-but she wouldn't listen. I ssss-should have MADE her listen," wailed Mrs. Tourney. "She should have just waited until morning."

"And that was around what time?"

"4:00," answered Mrs. Tourney, barely discernable through her sobs.

"Did she say anything was out of place? Did you notice anything unusual about her?" asked Harry.

"No. She sounded so happy and relieved. She said she had just finished her exams and was going back to her flat to grab her things. Her train left at 6:35," answered Mrs. Tourney as she wiped her eyes, attempting at last to collect herself. They paused for a moment as she blew her nose noisily.

"Mrs. Tourney, why wouldn't your daughter just apparate home? She was of age, correct?" asked Harry.

"Mel was of age, but she never passed the test. Splinched herself really bad on her first go and never tried to take the test again. 'There are plenty of ways to get around with out apparation.' That's what she always said whenever someone questioned her about it. That was our Mel, practical but determined."

"And where did your daughter go to school?"

"Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," answered Mr. Tourney.

"That's in France," added Ron.

"yes, my family is French through my grandmother. It meant a lot to her that Mel would go to a French wizarding school."

Mrs. Tourney, suddenly overcome with yet another round of tears, buried her face into her handkerchief. This time, sobbing so noisily that her husband had to almost shout.

"But she never showed up at home. That's when we got suspicious and called the police," said Mr. Tourney straining to be heard.

"Mrs. Tourney," Harry started.

But by then she was sobbing so loudly that they could no longer hear each other. Ron caught Harry's eye and tapped his wand sitting his lap. Harry had to suppress a smile. He knew what Ron was suggesting… And casting _silencio_ on Mrs. Tourney, while tempting, was not very befitting. But no one had said that he couldn't bewitch himself. Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket, pointed to himself and muttered _Muffliato_. He heard a slight pop in his ears, before everything went quiet. He grinned and gave Ron a discrete thumbs up. The spell wasn't perfect; even though he had been able to cast a more potent version of it he could still hear Mrs. Tourney, although she sounded significantly further away than she was. Ron stifled a laugh and followed suit.

They were both content to let Mr. Tourney attempt to console his wife, which seemed to take an eternity. Mr. Tourney appeared to be wholly unfit for the task. Refusing to make eye contact, he was now awkwardly patting her on the back.

When Mrs. Tourney was finally reduced to the sniffles, Harry undid the spell. He heard another small pop in his ear as the sound came rushing back.

Ron had done the same and, still adjusting, twisted a finger in his ear. As he watched Mrs. Tourney pull a fresh handkerchief from a large black bag in her lap, Ron suddenly remembered Hermione, and her bottomless purse.

"Mrs. Tourney, did your daughter happen to carry a purse?"

Harry glanced over at Ron, taken aback. A purse hadn't been found at the scene. How could he have overlooked that?

"Y-yes, she did actually. It wasn't with her things the other aurors brought us."

"Can you describe it for us?"

"It was lavender, with gold clasps."

"Would you be able to identify it?"

"Of course. I bought it for her last Christmas," answered Mrs. Tourney.

"Does she have any friends?"

"2 girls named Alice and Jeanne. We met them on several occasions, though only on a first name basis. Melissa's younger sister, Jane, might know more about them."

"How about a boyfriend?"

"Marc Dumortier." This time it was Mr. Tourney who spoke.

"They met when she first went away to school. They dated for a while, but then they broke up about two months ago. Mel wouldn't tell me why," added Mrs. Tourney as she dabbed at her eyes.

Harry made a mental note to dispatch his team to France to interview Alice and Jeanne and to find out all there is to know about a certain Mr. Marc Dumortier.

"Maybe one of her friends would know," continued Ron.

Mr. Tourney scoffed.

"I never liked that guy. Marc. I just knew something was off about him."

"Off?"

"Well the guy is rich. Came from one of those old, well to do French Wizarding families. He just always came off like he was entitled. Arrogant," Mr. Tourney said very matter-of-factly.

"Do you know anything else about him?"

"Well he started school a year before our Mel did," answered Mr. Tourney as he thoughtfully scratched the grey stubble on his chin.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything else?" Asked Ron.

"Yes. Merlin, we only met the boy twice. Didn't think much of him. I thought our Mel would never fall for a guy like that. His head was stuck so far up a dragon's ass, he was blowing smoke out of his ears," spat Mr. Tourney. "If only I knew then what I know now, it'd be him 6 feet below the ground."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

"Err….well then. Thank you both for your time," said Harry. He rose from his seat and offered his hand once again to Mr. Tourney. "We'll be in touch. If you happen to remember anything that could possibly be helpful to the case, please feel free to drop in."

His wife filed past Ron and Harry and went through the door first, still sniffling and clutching her threadbare handkerchief. Mr. Tourney lingered behind and gave Harry one last clap on the shoulder.

"If anyone can avenge my Mel, and get that smug punk, its Harry Potter. I have the utmost faith in you, boy."

"Errr… thanks", answered Harry as he pulled uncomfortably at his collar. He suddenly felt very warm. "We're doing to do our best."

Mr. Tourney gave Harry's shoulder a final squeeze, before he followed his wife down the hall of the dungeon.

"That was…. Intense," stated Ron as they watched Mr. Tourney make his way back towards the lift.

It was already 11 am, and the atrium of the ministry was bustling with witches and wizards rushing about to their lunch engagements. Against the far wall was a row fireplaces, each holding a smoldering green light. One after another, wizards stepped out of the flames and into the ministry, with several stopping momentarily to first brush the ash and soot from their cloaks. Several witches, who by the looks of them had entered from the public London toilet above, were wringing out their cloaks and hats; a wicked storm had been brewing above. However, the atrium itself, despite is large size, was quite warm. The large Floo Powder fires served a dual purpose.

And suddenly, Harry spotted them.

"Baker, Anderson!"

He had impeccable timing. His team had all been walking out at the same time, probably to their usual haunt, The Leaky Cauldron.

"Aw, we we're just about to head to lunch," complained a somewhat sluggish Anderson.

"You can eat later," answered harry sternly. "You and Baker are heading to France to interview Melissa tourney's ex-boyfriend, Marc Dumortier."

"Well, that's a bit more interesting than lunch at the Cauldron," said Baker Approvingly.

"Maybe for you," teased Harris. "Anderson is about keel over."

"I hate apparating with a hangover," Anderson grumbled.

"Harris, you're going too. You and Clarke are to interview her friends Alice and Jeanne," Harry cut in. "Let Clarke take the lead on this one, they might respond better to a woman's touch."

"What about, Crowley?" complained Anderson. "Where's the rook going?"

"Crowley's going to stay in London to interview her sister and provide research support."

"The _rook_ gets to stay?" asked Anderson indignantly, outrage etched across his face.

"Crowley needs more supervision. I _trust_ you guys," Harry answered with a grin. "Alright, head out. I want you in place by tonight. Locating this Marc Dumortier or whatever is our first priority. Right now he's our only lead."


	6. Chapter VI: Chasing the Storm

Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter VI

Chasing the Storm

Harry pulled open the heavy wooden door that belonged to the Leaky Cauldron. Heat washed over his face and instantly began to melt the tiny snowflakes that had collected in his messy black hair. The door shut behind him with an audible thump. This time, the bar was not nearly as busy. There were a few patrons here and there, but most were older wizards and one or two older witches. There was no doubt that these had been some of the leaky Cauldron's original patrons.

"Harry! Ron!"

"Hiya, Neville, looks like you've finally got a break around here," stated Ron as he sat down at the bar. He surveyed the lounge area. "Where's Hannah?"

"Christmas shopping," said Neville cheerfully as he continued to wipe the bar. "That's why its so empty. Pretty much everyone is just passing through. You'd think they stop and get a drink, but no its always "not in front of the kids' or 'stop harassing me'. I swear its getting harder and harder for a bloke to earn an honest Galleon."

Harry snorted.

"Sorry, Neville, but we've got to be going too. We're on Ministry business," Harry said as he composed himself.

Neville's face fell.

"Aw, well you'll at least stop back in on your way through and visit your mate. Get a drink. Come on… For old times," prodded Neville.

"Sure, it couldn't hurt," answered Ron as he stood up from the bar. "We'll come back around dark."

Harry and Ron walked across the lounge, winding their way through the tables to the back door, and into the alleyway behind the bar.

They spent their afternoon trudging through the ice and snow in Diagon Alley, which was made even more miserable by the holiday season. Despite the cold, everywhere wizarding families and shoppers lined the streets, waiting to get into shops that were already packed to capacity.

They visited second hand robe shops, pawn shops, and even junk shops for good measure. However, they were unsuccessful in locating even a whisper about a purse similar to the one carried by Melissa tourney. No one had ever seen it before, or her, for that matter.

Before long, Ron was complaining about frozen toes and the cold sting of snow in his boots. He was ready to give up when Harry came up with one last idea.

"Come on. Let's go down Knockturn Alley. Those are the only shops we haven't checked yet."

"Ugh," groaned Ron. "Come on, Harry we've been at it for hours. I'm sopping wet and bloody cold. Can't we just pick it up in the morning when the storm dies down a little?"

But Harry didn't seem to be listening. He was already half way to the alley.

"Ugh," Ron groaned again as he grudgingly followed behind.

Where Diagon Alley was bustling with festive decorations, Knockturn Alley was barren and desolate.

 _Thank Merlin_ , Ron thought.

They had no trouble finding their way to the only pawnshop on the street. A rusted gold bell chimed as Harry opened the door. Ron stepped in behind him and began stomping the snow from his boots. Even with all of the ruckus, no one appeared.

"Where do you think they've, gone?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged.

They walked up to the counter and waited. When no one appeared, Ron hit an old, well-worn bell on the counter.

"Hello?" he called. Still no one appeared. "Not a friendly lot, are they?"

"Let's have a look about, Shall we?" instructed Harry.

The shop was dark and dim, a feature which seemed to be a trademark of all the shops in Knockturn Alley, although Harry had to admit, this particular shop didn't appear as sinister as some its neighbors. It had its fair share of dark and cursed items, he saw, but mostly this shop seemed to contain second hand furniture and clothing, with a few dark leaning items propped up on shelves here and there. Harry and Ron strolled through the isles, surveying the old musky shelves, thick with dust.

"Hello?" Ron called again, craning his neck to see into the back storeroom. He walked over to the threshold and stuck his head in.

"Harry…" Ron whispered as he stepped over the threshold and into the back hall. "Look…"

Ron walked over and touched a suspicious looking unmarked crate. He took a peak inside.

"Powdered Dragon bone!" he said in shock. "Enough to make us richer than 10 Malfoys."

Harry followed behind for a closer look. The back storeroom was wide; the ceiling was so high it was draped in darkness. It was large enough to fit at least 6 or 7 of the storefronts within. Harry knew he should not have been surprised. He had learned long ago that magical things were not always what they appeared.

"Look… in that pile of stuff…" Ron pointed.

And then Harry saw it - a small lavender handbag, with gold clasps, thrown carelessly on top of a box.

As if from nowhere, an old man with stooped shoulders appeared from the shadows.

Harry and Ron both started, but Harry was the first to recover.

"Er- hello I'm Deputy Head of the Auror's Office, Harry Potter, and this is my partner Auror Ronald Weasley. We just had some questions, if you'd be so kind to answer."

The gentlemen said nothing for so long, that Harry thought he might be hard of hearing. So he cleared his throat and began again.

"Sir, I'm Lieutenant, -"

"I heard ya the first time boy." The man grumbled through black and rotting teeth. "What'd ya want?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron frown.

"Well, we're looking for a purse-"

"Haven't seen it."

"But, you don't even know what it looks like!" Ron said indignantly.

"Don't have to see it. Nobody's come in here lookin to sell no purse," answered the store clerk defiantly through crossed arms.

"Really?" asked Harry. "I noticed you have a lot of interesting items in this storeroom. Shall I call my Ministry friends and have them have a look?"

At that the store clerk suddenly became visibly nervous; his eyes darted to the door and then back to Harry.

"Alright, so?" admitted the store clerk grudgingly. "A fellow might have come in here, tryin to sell a purse like the one you blokes are lookin for. He if stole it, I had no part of it."

"Listen, we don't want you, and we don't care what else you've got in here. Just tell us who came in with the purse."

The store clerk wrung his hands. His eyes darted to the floor and then to the door and finally back at Harry, defeated.

"It was a ragged fellow. From the smell of him, he came straight out of the sewer. Tattered rags he had on. Clearly he had no idea what the purse was worth, so I bought it off him for 30 sickles. He if stole it, I had no part of it. I bought it off him fair and square."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron cut in.

"Do you remember anything distinctive about him?"

"Well he had dirty, brown hair to about here. And he just had that look about him… you know… those werewolf types."

"We appreciate your help, sir," said Harry. "But we'll have to confiscate the purse. It's evidence."

"You're welcome to it… for a price," The store clerk stood a little straighter; his confidence was quickly returning.

"A price?!" asked Ron outrage etched on his face. Harry placed an arm across Ron's chest.

"How much?" asked Harry.

"10 Galleons."

"10 GALLEONS?!"

"It's well made, specially charmed, _obviously_ in demand-" the store clerk ticked them off on his fingers.

"Well take it," Harry cut in. Ron's mouth dropped open in awe…

"But, Harry…" Ron started.

"It's fine, Ron."

Harry pulled out his coin purse and began to count the change. The store clerk licked his lips eagerly as he watched Harry count out 10 fat, gold galleons.

By the time they finally made it back out of the shop, Ron couldn't hold in his anger any longer.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for? The nerve of that guy! He's lucky we didn't haul him in ourselves for the amount of powdered dragon bone he had back there! That's easily a class B illegal substance."

Harry chuckled.

"But then you'd have even more paperwork on your desk, and on top of that, you'd have to wait in the cold for rest of the Department to get here." Harry grinned. "Trust me, this was for the best. You do remember those exploding galleons George came up with last summer?"

Ron laughed.

"Excellent. I always love it when bad guys get what they deserve."

"Come on then," said Harry. "We've got to get back to the Ministry. I need to coordinate the search for our werewolf."

Within the hour, supporting members of the Department of Magical Law enforcement had moved out in force. Harry had ordered that the entire sewer network under London and any known werewolf sanctuaries be searched inch by inch and any persons found be detained and questioned.

Harry remained behind at the Ministry in order to better coordinate the search efforts, pouring over city maps and examining diagrams of the city's sewer system. Witch Watchers had been dispatched across the city, scouring above and below, in search of their person of interest. Hit wizards, trained to storm criminal havens and apprehend dangerous suspects, had been placed on standby. Even patrol wizards had been pulled from their usual routes to assist in the search. Several hours had passed before an owl arrived with a simple message:

 _We found him._

Harry scrawled a short message in response.

 _Await back up._

He quickly jotted down the location to the other teams out in field.

"Come on, Ron," said Harry as he stood up and grabbed his jacket. "We've got him."

They apparated to the entrance of the sewer, a large drainage ditch, on the outskirts of the city. The bulk of the crew was already in place. Harry walked briskly to the camp, looking for one of his lead officers, who had been assigned to each squad. He didn't have to search long before, Sergeant James Milton, an overachiever, looking to make a name for himself, spotted Harry and made directly for him.

"Lieutenant Potter-"

"Have you seen, Crowley?" Harry cut in.

"He's on the front lines with the rest," answered Milton dismissively. "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid things might be a little more complicated than we had first anticipated."

Harry stopped walking. "Well?"

"By our best estimate, there are at least 20 werewolves grouped down there. Even if we take a few of them unawares, it is likely that once the alarm has been sounded, they will attempt to fight. An all out battle is most undesirable. If that happens, I'm afraid we don't have the numbers to over come those within, and man the perimeter to ensure no one escapes. I recommend that we wait and-"

"No, we don't have time to wait. The longer we wait the more likely he'll slip by us. We do this now."

"As you wish," answered Milton, although his voice betrayed his discontentment.

"Give the signal," Harry commanded. "Move in."

The first to enter were the teams of hit wizards, moving silently in the darkness. After a few minutes, the patrol wizards, followed. Harry and his team entered behind them. The darkness was absolute and oppressing. The drainage ditch was actually taller

 _Lumos_.

Harry held his wand high in front of him. It would signal to the werewolves and whoever else inhabited this sewer that they were coming, but it was better than walking in blind. By now, the support teams had gone off ahead, their booming shouts indicating that the raid had begun. The sewer had come alive with noise. It seemed the alarm had been sounded, and those who were in a position to escape were certainly trying to do so. That was all to the best. The other teams Harry had posted at the other four exits should hold.

 _Should…_ Harry thought uneasily.

Suddenly the shouting intensified. Harry saw flashes of light bursting at the end of the far end of the cavern. A red blur flew past where Harry's head used to be as he dived behind a wall. He heard Ron cry out. Without even realizing it, his wand was in his hand. Everywhere he saw flashes of yellow, white, and red. He even saw one green flash, avada kedavra, barely miss one of the hit wizards up ahead. Harry leaned out from behind cover and saw their assailants - 6 tattered looking beings flinging spells ferociously at the other end of the cavern.

They must have realized they had been routed, and realized that their best chance was to blast their way out. Harry lined one in his sights.

 _Stupefy!_ he shouted.

His aim was true; a red bolt of light took the woman in the chest. He barely had time to celebrate before blue flashed by his face and sent him hurling back into cover. Ron was crouched across from him, cursing at the hem of his robes.

Harry looked back out from behind his cover. He saw that their foe was rallying; others who had been fleeing took up the fight, and had a platoon of patrol wizards pinned down. Harry cast his patronus; his elegant and graceful stag burst forth and took off. He had sent it for help, a message to the other four teams to enter and converge on the middle.

He attempted to stick his head out again but the flashes had intensified and seemed to be getting closer. Harry signaled Ron with three fingers. Ron gave a nod.

They waited several tense moments huddled against the slimy stone walls of the sewer before more shouts erupted from the entrance. The cavalry had arrived. Harry gave Ron the signal. Together, they took advantage of the enemy's surprise and disarray. Harry quickly dispatched two werewolves from behind as Ron took another in the chest, just as he was turning to face Harry. They ran forward together, rapidly casting spells, occasionally darting to the side to avoid return fire. Harry saw Ron take down another.

And then he ran across Harry's field of vision; a tattered wizard with shaggy brown hair darting in and out of cover.

"RON!" Harry shouted as pointed towards the target. He took off running, hoping that Ron was behind him. A bedraggled wizard appeared in front of Harry. His elongated fangs glistening with spit.

" _STUPEFY!"_ Harry shouted.

The figure crumpled before he could even lift his wand.

His quarry was in front of him. Harry dived. Grabbing him about the middle, they went down in a tangle of limbs. Harry's wand went flying out of his hand. As he fell back, eyes wide with shock, the werewolf managed to let off a spell. Pain seared the side of Harry's face but he held on. They scuffled for dominance on the ground. Harry threw several punches as he attempted to get the upper hand. But he could not match the werewolf's superior strength. He finally won control rolled over on top of Harry. He wrapped his long fingers around Harry's neck, his dirty fingernails digging into his skin.

" _Incarcerous!"_ Ron shouted. Ropes coiled tightly around the werewolf's hands and feet and he fell head first into the ground.

"Alright, Harry?" asked Ron as he held out a hand.

"Yeah," Harry answered, a struggling to catch his breath as Ron helped him to his feet. "Got me across the cheek." He wiped away a trickle of blood with his sleeve.

"Lieutenant Potter," Milton had arrived, grime covering his normally immaculate robes and perfectly placed blonde hair. "most of the sewer has been cleared. We have a few holdouts farther in, but they should be easily subdued. So far, we have 33 captured and no reported breaches of the perimeter."

"Great work. Prepare them all to be transported back to the ministry for processing," Harry commanded. He pointed at the man at his feet, still struggling against the ropes that bound his hands. "Except this one. Take _him_ straight to interrogation."

* * *

They sat in one of the old dungeons in the bowels of the Ministry. Ron saw mist form in front of his face. Despite the cold, the werewolf was dressed sparingly. A bare chest showed underneath his trench coat, his black pants threadbare and faded.

 _And no shoes?_ Ron thought with a frown.

"Ralph Steinman." Harry said to Ron, as they watched him through the glass.

"He spent 5 years at Hogwarts until he got bitten. After that he dropped out, didn't even take his O.W.L.s. He had a couple of scrapes with the Ministry for petty theft, possession of stolen goods, and loitering. But there's nothing quite violent in his history is there?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

"Did the store clerk ID him?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, he says that's the guy who sold him the purse," Harry answered.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" asked Ron eagerly. "Let's get in there."

"Alright, then."

They walked into the interrogation chamber and took their seats across from the werewolf.

"Hello, Ralph."

The man, seated in a wooden chair with his hands bound in his lap, did not answer. He seemed determined not to make eye contact and so kept his eyes downcast, fiddling with his hands.

"So, Ralph, where were you on the night of December 2nd?" asked Ron, getting straight to the point.

"Me and my mates, we just needed some cash. We never hurt anybody," the man said defensively, never raising his eyes.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. Ron leaned a little forward in his seat.

"So then, you're aware of why you're here?" asked Harry.

"Of course," Ralph answered defiantly, finally lifting his head. "That girl's picture's been all over the prophet."

"Did you kill her?" Ron asked, lacking in any sense of subtlety.

"No!," Ralph shouted so forcefully, that his words continued to echo off of the high stone walls.

"Well then tell us what happened," said Harry.

Ralph sighed. He raised his bound hands and tousled his hair, thinking.

"We were…. We were hanging around Hyde Park. Sometimes people like to jog there at night and if they're alone, we just… we just take their money. Maybe bang 'em up a little. But we never _killed_ anybody!"

"You had her purse," Harry added. "How did you get it?"

"It was just laying there next to her. We found her like that."

"Who?"

"Me and couple of my buddies… She was all splayed in the dirt. Eyes staring up at the sky… Something ripped her right open. But there wasn't any blood or anything. She was already starting to get cold, and getting stiff. But we were so hungry… It couldn't hurt if she was already dead, right? So… we took a few bites. But we only had a couple. Somebody came crashing through the bushes so we had to take off. The purse was just lying next to her, so I picked it up and started running. I sold it to the vendor the next day. Wasn't worth much."

"Come on, mate, you expect us to believe that?" Ron scoffed.

"It's true!" Ralph said defensively. "Every bit of it."

"Ron-" Harry chided as Ron opened his mouth to retort. He stood up. "Hold tight Mr. Steinman. Someone will be along shortly to show you back to your cell."

They stepped out into the hall and Ron pulled the door shut behind them.

"Well do you believe him?" Ron asked.

"Yeah… I think so," said Harry. "Our guy had expensive taste in shoes. Ralph's not wearing any and his feet are easily 2 sizes bigger."

"I noticed that, too…"

"Mr. Potter-," a young man with peach fuzz about his lip approached warily. "You've received a letter."

Harry took the piece of paper from his hand and opened it up immediately.

"Baker reported in," He told Ron. "Marc had an Argument with Melissa Tourney the day she disappeared. She missed the train."

"So Ralph was telling the truth," said Ron.

"Make sure, that Mr. Steinman makes it back to his cell," Harry commanded the junior officer.

"Sir."

Harry and Ron set off down the hall towards the lift.

"So are you going to let him go?"

"Nah..." answered Harry with a grin. He's still was in possession of stolen goods, Ron. And he took out a couple of our officers. He'll probably spend a couple of weeks down in the dungeon while they process him.

They stepped inside and the lift doors closed as they slowly began to ascend.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I dunno. First thing's first, it's even more important that we talk to Marc Dumortier. I have to send off a few more owls, try to coordinate with the French Ministry, compile a report for the captain… What about you? Are you going home?"

"Ah… Not sure… I'm thinking about going to the Leaky Cauldron."

The lifted chimed at the atrium and Ron stepped out.

"Hermione's not going to be happy."

"Hermione's never happy," answered Ron with a sly grin. "Well Good night, mate. Try not to work yourself so hard," he added as the lift doors began to close.

"Thanks. 'Night, Ron."

Harry continued up the lift to the second floor. He settled down in his office and got to work. Before long, the magically fixed windows had grown dark, and the rest of the floor had grown as quiet as a grave.

He managed to finish another report and send off another owl or two before his eyes started to burn. By the third, his head had begun to nod. Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched.

 _Doubt I'm going to get much more done tonight_ , he thought. Today's commotion had taken a lot more out of him than he thought. As he stood up and began to pack his things, smile touched Harry's lips. He thought of home. Ginny and James were there, waiting for him.


End file.
